


Hurt

by Dove the Unoriginal (Typical_Dove)



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24098137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typical_Dove/pseuds/Dove%20the%20Unoriginal
Summary: Sometimes Daxter breaks down but Jak is there for him.
Kudos: 15





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post on tumblr. It was a beautiful sketch but I can't find it now. I'm sorry! Otherwise, I'd link to it. 
> 
> I don't have a beta reader normally but my wife helped me edit this. Feel free to hit me up if you wanna help.

The dark shadows of the man-made cave were wreathed in a salty staleness and dank moss. Both the green and yellow sun were peeking in with only the mildest curiosity from their thrones, held high in the summer sky by wobbly stilts made of streaming light. Breaking across the golden shore were the foaming waves. They tried to soothe Daxter with their lullaby, inspiring gentle memories that weren't enough to crowd out the tumultuous pain inside the poor adolescent.

Daxter remained huddled inside the broken stone Sentinel, on the oh so creatively named Sentinel Beach, with his back to the world. Outside everything was too bright. None of it matched his mood and he hated it even more for going on as if nothing had happened. Normally he could act as nonchalant as ever and brush their words off as if he were untouchable, but today was one of those days... Things had slowly been building up to a relentless siege against his carefully constructed mental fortress and all it took was one really good focused blast to get the walls crumbling down.

Now he was a little bundle of misery, rubbing his skinny arms against the slight chill despite the oh so warm and cheery weather. He wanted to stand and walk around, but he'd already done that. It didn't do any good, exercise wasn’t enough, so he'd hidden away until some of the panic-inducing, gut-wrenching, throat-tightening sorrow abated. He wasn't even certain how long he'd been inside the small ruin. An hour? Maybe more? What did it matter anyway? No one else cared.

Tapered ears twitched idly as he heard the crunch of sandals on the beach and for a split second, some spark of hope rose before it was drowned out by scattered insults that could never be denied, no matter what he did. Daxter flinched when he finally felt that familiar gaze settling on him and he squeezed his thin, gangly arms once in preparation for dealing with whatever might come next.

The silence became less empty when Jak finally sat down beside him, but Daxter refused to look up. Pebbles and jagged chunks of old grey brick were easier to talk to right now. It wasn't until he felt the sun-warmed hand patting his bent back that the redhead gave up the fight to ignore his best friend. Dax slumped forward to bury his face in his knees as he hugged them to his chest and he sighed.

“... No,” Daxter said.

He had summed up everything wrong and why he didn't want to talk about it quite succinctly if he did say so himself. Everything was just one big, fat, ugly no. His entire life was rejected. Oh, sure, they said it differently, every one of them. Some of them were more subtle than others. It wasn't a refusal of what Daxter might want or even what he aspired to be. That word meant everything the buck-toothed kid was in a nutshell. He was going to get it all wrong, no matter how hard he tried, and he should feel bad about that forever. He was born a fuck-up and he'd stay that way. No one in Sandover thought he was worth anything; not even Keira and she _liked_ him! As a friend anyway.

Secretly, he was positive that Jak felt the same. Daxter had simply never wanted to explore that painful truth. After all, even Daxter couldn't get his best friend to talk, when it was clear that Jak could make the sounds necessary and he heard and understood language perfectly well. That was probably Dax's biggest failing right there. He'd never been able to help his pal overcome the vow of silence or speech anxiety or whatever it was. It was some kind of muteness, but not physically imposed.

Jak hugged him and Daxter sniffled. He'd been determined not to cry and he'd done okay at that. There was more moisture than he'd wanted, but his cheeks were dry. If Daxter was going to fail anyway, then he could try being so manly that it wasn't that obvious when he flubbed. Now he was dangerously close to losing it, thanks to that simple act of kindness and sympathy. It made him uncertain whether he wanted Jak to continue or if he wanted to shove his best friend away. In the end, lethargy won.

Daxter sat there like a mindless lump, wallowing in self-pity and hating his inevitable weakness with a dark passion. Having his friend helped, but Daxter couldn't pull himself out of his bad mood. He was smoldering with anger and self-righteousness that had nowhere to go and not a single weapon to use against the object of his rage; himself. Worst of all, his voice began to crack as soon as he opened his mouth, which made him feel ridiculous. He'd been told it was normal for a boy his age, but of course, his suffering wasn't going to play nice; it just had to make him sound even more pathetic and awkward.

“I wish I was dead sometimes,” Daxter said.

He felt Jak sit up straighter at that, but that strong, gentle arm never left Daxter’s hunched shoulders. 

Daxter sighed. “... I want them to die too, but if I took everyone down with me, they'd just tell me I screwed up in hell. Or I'd die trying and _only_ kill me! I'd probably trip and fall on my sword or somethin', ya know?”

“Not that I can even lift a sword,” Daxter mumbled. “I already tried that! Just for kicks... See if I could. Then I got yelled at for touchin' stuff I'm not supposed to and for insultin' some out-of-town schmuck.”

The hug after that was so fierce it almost winded him and Daxter grunted irritably.

“Ah, stop it, big guy. Not like you care,” Dax said. “If you did, you'd at least say somethin'!”

He'd stepped out of line but the surge of bitterness wouldn't leave him. Inwardly, he rejoiced when Jak twitched for a moment against his side, as if jolted by an electric shock, but it didn't make his friend get up and leave. That was a better victory.

“I hate you, sometimes,” Daxter said. “You make me seem worse than I am, tough guy! You're like my oh so awesome shadow that keeps showin' me up at every turn, instead of just followin' along and doin' the stupid shit that I do!”

That got him a hard knuckle rubbed into his scalp and Daxter chuckled softly as he squirmed, trying to avoid the teasing attack. He finally looked up, rubbing at eyes that seemed more swollen and puffy precisely because they had kept all the saltwater in check, and saw the smirk on Jak's face.

_You were asking for that._

Daxter went back to hugging his knees to his chest, shrugging idly. Maybe he had. After all, he'd tried to get Jak as riled up as he was, but it didn't seem to work. Another failure. Probably better that way. He didn't want his best friend to despise him as much as he despised himself.

“It's awful when they don't say what they're thinkin',” Daxter said. “I can see it on their face when they wanna be polite about how much I suck.”

“No, you don't, Dax,” Jak said. “...You don't suck.”

Daxter sat upright and stared at his friend, still wondering if he'd heard him right. Did he hear Jak at all? Had someone else snuck in and said that? Had Jak truly said that? About him?! Daxter swallowed hard and nodded, but he couldn't agree with his hero just yet.

“But what am I good at?” Daxter asked. “Huh? Nothin'! I might as well try livin' with lurkers, like the babaks, if they'd let me! Probably wipe the floor with me instead, if they thought I was worth beatin' up in the first place.”

Jak sighed but continued to look straight into Daxter's misty blue eyes. His worry was unwavering, caught somewhere between an anxious frown and a sympathetic smile. Then he gave up, unable to find the words or unwilling to say anything more. Jak simply went back to giving Daxter a one-armed hug. The way Jak intermittently squeezed the slim, bony shoulder under his strong, steady grip, and how he leaned into Daxter's scrawny side, refusing to give up on his friend... All of that strapping young man’s attention warmed Daxter inside and out, proving what truly mattered.

Daxter's best friend didn't want him to go away. Ever. It was a lot to mull over. In the end, Daxter finally released a few of the sobs tickling his throat. He hadn't cried since he was very young, after losing everything. For once, it was a relief to give in... to show how hapless he was. It would be all right. Jak didn't mind. His buddy liked him anyway, even if Daxter was a blubbering idiot. 

They'd _always_ be pals.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Jak & Daxter, nor anything else in their franchise. Naughty Dog does. I make no money writing this. I doubt anyone would pay me for it anyway. 
> 
> I originally posted this on Adultfanfiction.org back when it was .net but I finally decided to post it here with some editing for clarity. :)


End file.
